


Memories Keep Us Warm

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) - Fandom
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Crash Landing, Discussion of Death, F/M, Hypothermia, M/M, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: When the jet crashes in an accident, Hank and Scott are stranded in the snow and there is nothing but the wreckage, their memories and each other to keep them alive ...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt "hypothermia"

Hank opened his eyes and knew immediately that they were in terrible trouble.

He’d meant it as a test flight, that was all. A real stretch of the new plane's capabilities but nothing dangerous or risky. Scott had begged to be allowed to come along, itching to learn how to fly the way that Hank could and Hank had welcomed the company. He and Scott would be perfectly safe together. Nothing was going to go wrong.

Except something _had_ gone wrong. Badly wrong. And now, he was lying in the snow, cold and shaking and he didn't know where Scott was.

“Scott. _Scott?!_ ”

No answer. He stumbled to his feet, trying not to wince in pain. He'd been thrown from the wreck, that was … bad because if Scott had been thrown too, he might have been lying out here for hours and he didn't have warm, protective fur …

“ _Scott!_ ” he bellowed again, moving towards the twisted plane. What had happened? He couldn't remember but he thought they'd been attacked, although by who – or what – he wasn't sure at all. His head was aching and he knew he was bleeding. He'd have to hope it wasn't too serious.

He reached the plane, wincing at the giant hole torn in the side. No wonder she had crashed. Hank was able to climb right inside and he blinked in the dark, trying to focus, praying that he would see his pupil, his _friend_ …

His stomach lurched with relief as he saw Scott still slumped in the co-pilot seat. His head was bent right over and relief turned to terror that he might be dead, that he might have died on impact or bled out as Hank lay unconscious …

“Scott, Scott, don't be dead, please … ”

A low groan and Hank could have cried with relief. He pressed a paw to Scott's cheek, wincing at the ghastly palor. Scott was icy cold, lips blueish. Hank ran his hands frantically over his body, checking for breaks but there was nothing – which didn't mean Scott was unhurt, far from it but Hank couldn't leave him sitting here, Scott would freeze ...

He stabbed at the control panel, hoping that there would be some flickers of power, that he could use to send a distress signal. In theory, the moment the plane had been badly daanaged, a beacon would have alerted the mansion that something had gone terribly wrong but if that hadn't worked, if it had been damaged … and they would only have a rough idea of where they were, another message would help … but no, there was no power. There was nothing left except the wreckage and themselves.

Scott gave another low groan, stirring and shuddering. Hank scooped him up in his arms and carried him to the back of the plane, finding the most intact part that he could.

“Scott, can you hear me? Scott, it's going to be all right. I’m going to take care of you until the others come.”

He dug in the scattered and damaged gear for a thermal blanket, glad that he'd been strict about packing survival gear. Finding what he was was looking for, he tucked it around Scott before lying down beside him, wrapping his arms tightly around Scott's body and pulling him close to his fur.

“Scott, I want you to try and wake up for me. I know it's hard, I know you're probably feeling sick but I really do want to talk to you. Please. Open your eyes for me.”

He made sure to speak while keeping his mouth right over Scott's, breathing over his lips and nose to stimulate Scott’s own breathing. To his relief, Scott stirred a little, more controlledly this time.

“That's it, that's it, Scott. Eyes open, force your eyes open. I know it's hard but you must focus if you can. You’re wearing your glasses, it’s all right, you won’t hurt anybody. Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah … ” Scott's voice was slurred and indistinct. “You … Hank.”

“Yes, that's right. Hank McCoy. Do you know where you are?”

“No … ”

“Not at all? Think for me, please.”

Scott shuddered. Hank rubbed his cheeks, his neck, hoping to encourage the blood flow. He continued to blow on Scott's lips and nose. 

“Blackbird,” Scott mumbled. “On … Blackbird.”

“Yes, that's right. We're on the Blackbird. Do you remember what happened?”

“Fire … black fire.”

Hank wasn't sure that he could question that. He didn't remember it but then, he didn't remember anything that had happened, not really. Perhaps Scott was quite right. He made a sound like he was agreeing.

“And do you remember after that?”

“Crash ...?”

“Yes. We’ve crashed and it’s very important that we both try to stay awake and warm until the others come.”

“Hot,” Scott said. “Too hot.”

He tried to move back, flailing at the blanket. Hank grabbed hold of him, pulling him back, trapping the blanket around him with his arms.

“No, no, Scott, listen to me, you have to keep the blanket on, do you understand me? You're not too hot, you have hypothermia and it's important that you keep trying to warm yourself.”

“No, it's hot, I can't … ”

“Scott, I am your teacher, you have to do as I say.”

It wasn't how he liked to give orders but he had a feeling it would work better than reasoning right now. He was correct, Scott made an unhappy noise but settled, rocking slightly in Hank's arms.

“Good boy,” he said because it seemed a good idea to praise him. “That's the way, Scott. They'll come for us soon and take us home, we'll both be absolutely fine.”

He was pleased that his voice sounded calm. He thought that he was telling the truth, he did. Charles would come quickly the moment he realised that he was in trouble. It wouldn't take too long, they had two planes after all. Charles would come and they would be looked after and they would be fine, they would both be fine soon, as long as Scott didn't freeze …

“I'm so tired,” Scott said. “So … tired.”

“No. No, Scott, stay awake. It's better, it's better to be awake. You'll be fine, you'll be absolutely fine but you have to stay awake. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere? If you need anything?”

“I … sore. Hot. So hot. Hypothermia …?”

“Yes, that's right. So let's stay awake and keep you warm. Put your hands in my fur if that's better than the blanket.”

Scott did so, rubbing his hands over Hank's chest in a way that was just a little bit strange to experience. Hank didn't complain. Right now, all that really mattered was keeping Scott alive. If Scott wanted to touch him, he'd allow it. He'd allow anything.

“Talk to me, Scott,” he said, encouragingly. “About anything you want.”

“Can't … think. Head all … the plane crashed?”

“Yes, it did. I don't know how but we'll find out. I think we're in Alaska somewhere, serves me right for flying for such a long time, I should have taken us back.”

“No … was enjoying it. Like flying. I … I like flying, I … can I fly again?”

“Yes, of course. I'll keep teaching you, you're very good, quick reflexes.”

“Good. Nice flying. I mean … it's nice to fly.”

“It's all right, Scott. You don't need to speak properly if you don't want to, just keep talking. Just need you to keep talking.”

It wasn't just for Scott's sake. His fur had limits and his head was throbbing badly. If he passed out, Scott might pass out too and if they were both unconscious, they might not hear voices calling to them. They might simply slip away and die. They both needed to try and stay concious, both needed to focus their minds. Hank didn't want to die. Not here, not like this. He wasn't ready. He had so many things that he wanted to do, so many things that he had to live for …

“Do you think dying hurts?”

Maybe Scott's mind was running along similar lines to his own. Hank swallowed, trying to make sure his voice was steady when he spoke.

“I don't think so. This hurts but … before, you just felt sleepy, didn't you? So it'll be like that, going to sleep with a sore head.”

“Do you think it hurt Alex?”

“No,” Hank said firmly. “It was too quick. He didn't know what happened to him, it will just have been a flash and then he’ll have been ... elsewhere.”

“I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want … I'm scared!”

“Then don't think about it,” Hank said desperately. “Think about something else. Think about how it'll feel to help me build the next plane. I'll let you, if you really like flying. I'll teach you how to fix it, how to do everything you need to be in charge of the plane. Would you like that? You can be involved with it.”

“Yeah … I'd like that,” Scott said, sounding a little more relaxed now. “I like … and it's important, isn't it? Being … I'd like to be useful. I want … I want to be as strong as you and Mystique and the Professor.”

Hank had to smile at the admiration in Scott's slightly slurred voice. Yes, Charles had that effect on people. He always seemed so strong, so powerful, so talented. People wanted to impress him or emulate him. Scott clearly wanted to do a little of both.

“You're very strong already,” he said, quite truthfully. “You were so brave in Cairo. Not everyone could have done as well as you could. Not everyone could have been as strong as you were.”

Scott shrugged, as though he didn't think it had been very important. Hank rubbed his back, trying to encourage circulation.

“You were strong, Scott. I don't know that I'd have been so strong when I was your age.”

“But you fought, didn’t you?”

“I was two years older than you and ... changed.”

He tried not to think about those early days of his transformation. Now, he was comfortable with both shapes, able to control the surging emotions that came with his Beast form. But back then, rage had been so easy to channel, to lose himself to. Rage at the world, rage at himself for being so stupid. Sometimes, that rage still bubbled inside but he could control it now.

“You’re so brave, Scott. I know Alex would have been proud.”

Scott made a small noise. They didn’t often talk about his brother very much. Charles did, Hank knew but he found he was uncomfortable with it and so rarely brought it up. Was this a really good moment to bring him up? He wasn’t sure but then, they were freezing to death in a damaged plane. There _were_ no good topics for conversation.

“Would he?” Scott whispered.

“Yes, of course. You’re everything he would have wanted you to be – except probably too well-behaved, these days.”

Scott managed a shaky laugh at that. He’d been amazed when they’d started telling him about some of Alex’s exploits. Somehow, he’d managed to convince himself that his brother was a good guy – which he was _was_ , but there was so much more to Alex than that, always had been. Hank had worried that they might be ruining his dreams but Charles had told him that he was wrong. That was it better to remember people as they were, warts and all, to remember the problems they’d had and the mischief they’d made, rather than turn them into idols. Charles was always so clever ...

He realised with a shock that his mind was beginning to wander, that he was losing focus. If he went, Scott would go too, he had no doubts. He growled, furious and Scott made a sound like a whimper, obviously puzzled by the sudden sound of anger from his ... from what? From a teacher? From a friend?

“Sorry. I’m just ... keep talking, Scott. Talk to me.”

“Do you... are you in love with the Professor?”

The question seemed to come out of nowhere and Hank was sure that if he wasn’t so cold, he’d be blushing. Scott wasn’t looking at him, he had his face burried in Hank’s shoulder. That made it easier, in a way.

“The Professor’s very special to me,” he said, almost automatically trying to conceal anything more than that. Scott shifted in his arms.

“But do you love him? Like, proper love?”

“Why are you asking me this, Scott?”

“Want to know.” Scott’s voice was sounding slurred again and Hank began to rub his back. “Want to ... some of the kids say you do, that you’re in love, practically married. Jean wouldn’t say when I asked, said she couldn’t share secrets. Want to know ... ”

“Would it make a difference if we were?”

Scott didn’t answer for a moment and Hank tried not to let himself become afraid. Charles would have told the world about what they shared, it was Hank who had begged him to keep it silent. Hank who had been so afraid of what it might mean if anybody knew. It might be legal but it was not accepted and they were _teachers_ , they were responsible for children and people would make accusations, they’d think things and Hank wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready for that. And the school was so important ...

“Not to me,” Scott said, bringing him back. “Not ... I like you both. Want ... is it easy? Being in love with a telepath?”

“No easier or harder than loving anybody,” Hank said truthfully. Sometimes Charles’s telepathy was useful, sometimes it was a nuisance. Over the years, they had mostly managed to balance it out between the extremes. Charles was good at not commenting on stray thoughts and leaving Hank to have his doubts and frets in private. He never commented on Hank’s passing thoughts about the attractiveness of other people. No, of all the worries and fears he had about himself and Charles, the telepathy was almost nothing.

“I get scared,” Scott whispered. “She’s ... she must know how I feel about her, she must know ... she must think I’m such a creep, looking at her and thinking she’s so lovely ... ”

“I don’t think she’ll feel that way,” Hank said, trying to remember what Charles had told him about this once. “She knows that you mean it in a good way. She’s a telepath after all.”

“Not good enough for her,” Scott sad.

“Rubbish,” Hank said. “Scott, you’re a good person. Trust me, I know.”

He’d thought to himself enough times that he wasn’t really worthy of Charles. That Charles was so special and he was so ... well. He was just Hank McCoy. But Charles had told him that it didn’t matter and Hank believed Charles. He loved Charles, couldn’t imagine a world without him, although he was sure Charles would be all right if Hank died here today. Charles would survive, Charles had so many people that loved him and that he loved. Charles would make it work ...

“You’ve stopped shivering,” Scott mumbled and Hank realised that it was true. His fur was fluffed up all over his body in a way that might have been funny if it hadn’t been so serious. The cold was getting too much and his focus was slipping. He had to keep his mind on something but it was hard, maybe too hard.

“They’ll find us,” he said. “They’ll find us soon, Scotty. Charles an’ Jean, they’ll come, my Charles and your Jean and we’ll be fine, don’t be scared, they’ll come ... ”

“Not scared,” Scott murmured, leaning against him. “Not scared ... ”

Hank was beginning to feel far too hot. He dimly thought that might be a good thing. If he was too hot, that heat would warm Scott and it was important that Scott stayed warm, very important. He couldn’t remember quite why any more but he tightened his grip because if Scott was warm, everything would be all right, even though he was tired and hot and his mind had gone strangely hazy.

_Doctor McCoy! No!_

Someone was shouting at him. It was very far away but he had a feeling they were quite angry. He didn’t like people being angry with him. He never had. What had he done wrong? Why was someone cross with him? He didn’t want anybody to be cross ...

_Doctor McCoy, wake up! Wake up!_

Wake up? He wasn’t asleep, was he? He didn’t think he was asleep. He didn’t think anything very much. He was tired though, sleeping would be nice ...

_DOCTOR MCCOY!_

Something hot. Something burning with power in his head. Hank felt it cut through him, almost painfully. He had to respond, he had to but he was tired and he didn’t want to, he was ... he didn’t like it, he wanted it to stop, it was too much, too bright, too powerful ...

But he couldn’t make it stop without waking up. So he woke up. Scott was unconscious in his arms, lips blue again, face grey. Hank tried to reach up to him, tried to touch his face but his hands wouldn’t move properly. Nothing would move properly.

No wonder someone was shouting at him. He was dying. They were both dying.

_You’re not going to die! We’re nearly there, Doctor McCoy!_

Jean. It was Jean. Jean was coming to save them. And it gave Hank the energy to lift his hand and press it against Scott’s face and shake him until his friend moaned.

And then Jean was there, kneeling over them, touching Scott’s face herself. Hank felt other hands on him, a blanket being wrapped around him and he decided that if other people were there, he was probably safe to quietly pass out again.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. He would wake to find himself far too hot or far too cold, sweating or shaking or sometimes both at once. His fingers and toes felt as though someone was jabbing them with red hot pins. At one point, someone was holding his hand but he wasn’t sure who. He could only focus his mind on one thing.

“Scott?”

“He’s fine.” Kurt’s voice was somewhere close by and then Hank felt the touch of a two fingered hand on his shoulder. “Everything is fine. Please rest now.”

Hank couldn’t rest until he’d managed twist his head to the side and seen Scott lying beside him. A Scott with a healthier pallor, a Scott who was breathing steadily, a Scott who was holding Jean’s hand, even in his sleep. Jean looked over at Hank and smiled.

“Go back to sleep, Doctor McCoy. Everything is fine. You are both safe.”

Hank slept again. He dreamed of Jean and Scott holding each other, Jean blazing with her power and Scott glowing with happiness and hope.

The next time he woke, he was in his own bed and Charles was at his side. He looked pale and tired but when he saw Hank was looking at him, he smiled and his face practically glowed.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he said, his voice soft and affectionate, despite the words he was saying. “Not ever, do you understand? You scared me so much, I thought you were going to die and I would _not_ be all right without you, no matter how many people love me.”

He was massaging Hank’s fingers as he spoke, as though trying to bring the blood back into them, even though they didn’t need that done any longer. Hank twitched them carefully, pleased that they all seemed to be still attached. He wriggled his toes too. He was fairly sure they were all there.

“You’re fine,” Charles said, reading his mind and pulling back the blankets so that Hank could see all ten of his toes. “All of you is fine. So is Scott. Jean’s been ever so worried about him.”

“He was worried about her too,” Hank said. “But I’m guessing that you already know that.”

Charles smiled and shrugged his shoulders, an acknowledgement of all that he couldn’t help but know. 

“There are some things that it’s polite to ignore,” he said. “I do my best, you know. But yes, I know. And I know that right now, they’re both very, very happy.”

He lifted himself out of the wheelchair and climbed onto the bed next to Hank, lying beside him and running his fingers gently through Hank’s fur. Hank closed his eyes and began to purr softly at the delicate, rhythmic movements that he loved. He heard Charles sigh too.

 _I love you, Hank McCoy_. 

“Love you too,” he mumbled and felt Charles smile against his chest. He was tired but it was all right now. He could sleep safely and he’d wake up feeling better and Charles would still be there. And Scott would be there too, warm and safe and loved, just the way he deserved. They were both safe. Hank drifted off to sleep, Charles in his arms, warm both inside and out.


End file.
